Pinned
by WhatsInAName99
Summary: Out of all the horrors he'd faced on the job, this was the first time that Morgan was fairly certain that he was going to die. But the worst part was that if he died, he would die alone, because even if anyone even knew where he was, no one would think to look for him. Morgan and Rossi Friendship, For-Shot, Complete
1. Column

Wait a minute here…someone other than Reid is getting whumped on? The world must be shifting, there's an alteration in time and space!

The chapters here will be freakishly short because I've been writing a bit sporadically lately. I will finish this, though, as well as my other much more involved WIP.

OK, on with it!

* * *

Derek Morgan was starting to feel like this property was not worth what he paid for it. He shook his head as he stared up at the high ceiling regarding the exposed beams riddled with water damage and rot.

The house had been an impulse buy, like the expensive candy bar one would pick up at the checkout lane at the grocery store that turned out to taste like chocolate-covered cardboard. He had just cleared double the expected profit from his last flip and the confidence he felt from that sale made him believe he could accomplish anything, even turning a house that should probably have been condemned into a beautiful future home for some growing family.

Morgan sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his glove-clad hand. "I guess I can't get this place in shape by staring at it, can I?" he asked himself out loud and reluctantly began the tedious task of clearing out his workstation.

The first order of business was to rid the floor of debris; insulation, split boards, shattered glass and piles of stripped wire made the space so difficult to maneuver that Morgan found himself constantly stepping over the clutter. It was hot, backbreaking work, and the dust mask he wore made him sweat even more heavily. Eventually, though, he managed to throw most of the smaller junk out the window into the awaiting dumpster; the larger pieces he had to carry out the back door. Within a few hours, the floor was clear enough to walk across without tripping.

When he was confident that he had done enough hard labor to warrant a break, Morgan lifted the dust mask off of his face and let it hang around his neck. He leaned against a splintered wooden column long enough to let his heart rate return to normal. Soon he resolved to go out to his car to retrieve a bottle of water from the cooler in his trunk. He pushed off from the column and instantly heard a deafening crack above him. He instinctively looked up just in time to see the column topple over and the beams above that it had been just barely supporting come crashing down.


	2. Hurt

Before we continue here I need to address some goings-on on the review page. To the "Guest" reviewer, I visited tannerose5's profile and found no evidence that the author in any way dislikes Morgan. In fact, he seams to be a main character in several fics that the author has added to their favorites. In the future, please make your reviews actual reviews and not stabs at other reviewers. Anonymous reviews can be very easily removed. I've done it before.

OK, on with it!

* * *

Morgan awoke with a groan and a fiery pain that engulfed his entire body. He was almost immediately aware of the warm, stick combination of sweat and blood dripping down from his face that was pressed into the dusty unfinished hardwood floor. He tried to ignore the fact that it stung his eyes and assess his current position. Slowly he tried to move his legs. He could feel them, oh god could he feel them, so he at least knew he was not paralyzed. But a crushing weight on his back made him unable to move more than a slight turn of his head. When he did turn his head he saw more blood, this time in a growing pool beside him. He couldn't figure out where the blood was coming from due to the fact that his entire body was in so much agony it was impossible to tell where one wound ended and another began.

Even breathing was difficult and excruciating. Just when he thought grater pain could not exist, he tried to inhale deeply. Sharp pain shot thru his chest and he tried to scream, but when his mouth opened, nothing came out, not even air. He struggled with every breath. The weight of the boards on top of him suffocated him and pinned him to the filthy floor.

When he began to feel lightheaded, he knew what was slowly but surely happening to him. He was either bleeding to death, suffocating to death, or both. He thought for a fleeting moment of the irony of the situation. So many times in his profession he had been shot at, punched out, electrocuted and nearly blown up. But out of all the horrors he'd faced on the job, this was the first time that Morgan was fairly certain that he was going to die. He was going to die pinned under rotten wooden beams on the floor of one of his own houses. Worst of all, it was a Saturday afternoon and the team had been promised no new cases until they arrived at the BAU Monday. If he died, he would die alone, because even if anyone even knew where he was, no one would think to look for him.

He wondered how long it would take someone to find his body. He wondered how long it would take his team, his mother, and his sisters to stop crying after news of his death. He hoped not long. He hated the thought of the people he loved crying over him.

The pain started to reseed and he knew he couldn't keep his eyes open much longer. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of an ambulance siren that first grew closer, than faded away. Morgan hoped that whoever the ambulance was on its way to save would be reached in time, even if he wasn't.

**_WIANWIANWIANWIAN_**

Rossi had decided he would try this again. He knew Morgan would most likely be working on his newest property this weekend, so he wanted to surprise him with a bottle of scotch and not get called away on a case that brought Morgan's worst nightmares crashing down around him this time. Besides, the two had gotten into a quite intense spat over a profile on their last case. As it turned out they had both been wrong, and Rossi wanted to smooth things out between himself and his friend because in his experience life was to short for animosity.

But of cores on a Saturday afternoon, there had to be a line at the liquor store longer than a Tolkin novel.

* * *

So, will Rossi make it there in time?


	3. Found

David Rossi could tell that something was amiss the instant he pulled into the driveway of the nearly dilapidated building. When he stepped out of his vehicle, liquor and glasses in hand, it was entirely too quiet. There was no banging or crashing, no roaring of power tools. Morgan's vehicle was in fact parked around the side of the house as Rossi had hoped it would be. Morgan was here, but something was not right.

The dust in the air immediately made Rossi cough upon entering the house. He took in the surroundings slowly; holes and graffiti covered what was left of the walls and the floor was covered in dust, shattered glass and small debris. It reminded him of the scenes of so many body dumps. It all made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention like little gray soldiers.

He turned the corner from the foyer to what he supposed was once a living room, the boards creaking under his feet. He gasped at the sight before him: Morgan lay unconscious and bleeding on the ground buried under a pile of wooden beams. The bottle of scotch and the glasses he had brought fell to the floor and shattered with a crash that Rossi barely heard.

"Morgan!" the older agent called out and rushed to his friend's side. He dropped to his knees not caring that his five-hundred-dollar slacks would be ruined. He pressed two fingers into Morgan's neck and heaved a sigh of relief to feel a pulse there, rapid and weak as it was, it was still there.

"Derek," Rossi coaxed, gently shaking the unconscious man's shoulder.

When Morgan did not rouse, Rossi stood and cursed under his breath. With all the strength his aging body could summon, he grabbed hold of the largest plank and strained to lift it from Morgan's body. He tried not to think about how much it must weigh and remembered a story Reid had told once about a mother who had lifted a half-tone car off of her child who was trapped underneath. Rossi imagined that it was that same type of desperation that allowed him to lift the planks and free his fellow agent form the rubble pile.

Morgan gasped for a breath when the weight was lifted off of him allowing his lungs to expand. Rossi, out of breath himself, again knelt beside Morgan and took out his phone to call 911. As he explained the situation to the operator, he watched Morgan begin to stir and rouse slightly, although he was obviously still technically unconscious. The operator on the line assured him that help was on the way.

By the time Morgan was fully conscious again he was wheezing and coughing, his lungs desperate to take in much needed oxygen.

"Hay, hay, it's going to be all right," Rossi assured, rubbing his friend's shoulder. "I called an ambulance. Help's on the way."

"Rossi?" Morgan's gravely voice strained.

"Are we ever going to be allowed a nice, quiet drink together?" Rossi asked, attempting a joke.

Morgan made a choking sound that was supposed to be a laugh. "No such luck I guess."

It wasn't long before they heard the approaching wail of sirens. Morgan was breathing better at that point, but still unable to move. Neither man said it, but both had the same thought: that Rossi had quite possibly arrived just in time.


	4. Safe

Here's the last chapter in which we will encounter a recycled OFC from one of my previous fics. Some of you may remember Dr. Fielding…

Oh, and sorry guys. I suck at writing Rossi!

And "Guest," You ARE mentioning it. You started mentioning it and you are the only one who is mentioning it. One more stab from you and ALL of your comments are GETTING TAKEN OFF!

* * *

"Agent Rossi?" The female voice made Rossi look up suddenly from the seven-month-old Field and Stream magazine he'd found on the table in the waiting room. He closed it and laid it on the chair next to him, standing to politely regard the smiling young blond-haired green-eyed doctor before him.

"I'm Dr. Fielding," the Dr. introduced and held out her hand. Rossi shook her hand and smiled. His inner profiled kicked in and told him that the fact that this doctor was in such light spirits must mean good news regarding Morgan.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am."

"You'll be pleased to know that Agent Morgan is going to be just fine. He suffered a multitude of minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises as well as a mild concussion, several cracked ribs and deep lacerations on his forehead and left side from which he lost a lot of blood. Fortunately no organs were damaged and he's been given a low dose antibiotic to ensure he doesn't contract an infection. He'll be staying a few days for observation and recovery."

"Tell that last one to your patient," Rossi said with a grin. He wasn't sure his colleague would be entirely thrilled to lie in a hospital bed for any length of time.

"Oh, trust me, I have," The blonde doctor said with a role of her eyes. "He seemed none to fond of the idea. I don't know how you handle him in the field. He's quite stubborn."

Rossi laughed and nodded. "Tell me about it. Can I see him?"

"Certainly. Follow me."

Rossi followed Fielding down the hall a short distance. "Room 209," she said and pointed down the hall.

Rossi thanked her and made his way to room 209.

"…me alone, god damn it!" Rossi entered the room in the middle of Morgan's tirade toward the nurse in his room.

"I need to check the wound for infection," the heavy-set male nurse insisted.

"Having trouble?" Rossi asked and both men looked his way.

"Rossi, can you please tell these people to leave me alone so I can rest? I'm exhausted and in pain."

Rossi spoke to the nurse. "Would you mind coming back in five minutes? I think I can calm him down."

The nurse sighed. "Five minutes. No more. It's imperative that we keep an eye on that laceration."

The nurse left and Rossi sat in the chair next to Morgan's bed.

"Well, it's good to see you alive and kicking," Rossi said, getting a smile from Morgan in return.

"I've got to admit, Rossi, you saved my life back there. If you wouldn't have gotten a taste for scotch right at that moment…what were you doing there, anyway?"

"First of all, your welcome. Second, I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"That last case in Fairview. We were basically at each other's throats the whole case and, well, I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between us. Life's to short for that, you know?"

"Yeah," Morgan nodded. "And to think I almost didn't get a chance to apologize for my behavior on that case."

"Maybe once they let you out, we can go to my favorite bar and finally have a proper drink. What do you say?"

"Sounds great to me. So no hard feelings?"

Rossi shook his head. "None."

* * *

Well, looks like I got you guys all worked up for nothing. He's going to be okay! Thanks for reading. Now, muse…PLEASE help me work on What You Want vs. What You Need now!


End file.
